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A faint line appears between her brows.

"One thing," I continue. "Name one thing. What would it take to convince you to eat your lunch?"

She studies me for a long moment, suspicion written all over her face. "So now you want to negotiate?"

"This," I say evenly, "is me extending an olive branch. You'd be wise to take it before I change my mind."

Her eyes roll toward the ceiling.

I sigh. "Need I remind you what I told you about rolling your eyes at me?"

She lowers them again, completely unapologetic. "My offenses are increasing?"

"They are."

I lean back in my chair. "And when the day comes for me to collect on all of them..."

I allow the corner of my mouth to lift. "...you'd better be ready."

She deliberately rolls her eyes again.

I groan. "You're doing that on purpose, aren’t you?"

A hint of satisfaction flickers across her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I return to my original question. "So what would it take?"

She sighs dramatically. "Anything?"

"Aside from calling off the engagement."

She huffs. “Well… at least I tried.”

She hesitates, as though she's trying to think of something impossible. Something I'll refuse.

Finally, she looks up. "Fine. When we get married..."

She says the words reluctantly. "I want an art studio."

I blink. "An art studio?"

She nods. "Somewhere in your house."

"Our house," I correct.

Her voice softens almost imperceptibly. "I want a room that's just mine. A place where I can paint."

I stare at her. Of all the things she could have asked for—jewelry, a car, money—she asks for a room to paint.

I almost laugh. Not because the request is ridiculous. Because she doesn't know that she's asking for something that's already being built.

The moment I decided Aurora would become my wife, I had one of the unused wings of my estate redesigned as an art studio for her. Of course I know my fiancée is a little artist.

An interior designer is currently working on it as we speak.

"Done."

Her head snaps up. "Really?"